Oh cheeky cheekyOh naughty sneekyYou're so perceptive and I wonder how you knew.

But these finks don't walk too wellA bad sense of directionAnd so they stumble round in threesSuch a strange collection.

Oh you headless chickenCan those poor teeth take so much kicking?You're always so charmingAs you peck your way up there.

And these finks don't dress too wellNo discriminationTo be a zombie all the timeRequires such dedication.

Oh please, sir will you let it go by'cos I failed both tests with my legs both tiedIn my place the stuff is all thereI've been ever so sad for a very long timeMy my they wanted the works can you this and thatI never got a letter backMore fool me bless my soulMore fool me bless my soul.

Oh perfect mastersThey thrive on disastersThey all look so harmlessTill they find there way up there.

But dead finks don't talk too wellThey've got a shaky sense of dictionIt's not so much a living hellIt's just a dying fiction.